


A Diamond in the Rough

by Rising_Phoenix



Category: Aladdin (2019), The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Bottom Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Genie Jafar, Historian Nicky, Jafar is Joe, Joe is Jafar, M/M, No Immortality, On Hiatus, Top Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, angry Joe/Jafar, shy Nicky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26271220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rising_Phoenix/pseuds/Rising_Phoenix
Summary: Genie Jafar is found by shy historian Nicky and freed from his prison --  while Nicky only wants a chance with his crush, the genie still wants power and revenge...if only there weren't suddenly feelings for the man he has to serve...
Relationships: Jafar (Disney)/Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 53
Kudos: 176





	A Diamond in the Rough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hanniXwill1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanniXwill1/gifts), [oocfia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oocfia/gifts), [CassieRaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassieRaven/gifts).



The genie had lied.

It was not that he had not received phenomenal cosmic powers, he was well aware of the power that was in his hands, bristling underneath his skin like a burning sensation, like the constant flatter of a hummingbird’s wings. The knowledge of his power was always present, his fingertips itching, his whole body craving to release that power that had been given to him, that he had wished for, onto the world.

Only, the world was not his home anymore.

Instead, it was what the genie and Aladdin had called “itty bitty living space”.

And that was the lie.

In the first weeks, months, maybe years or even centuries after his imprisonment inside the lamp, he had scratched his fingertips bloody at the smooth metal walls of the lamp, had screamed and torn his hair out, had cried and yelled and lost his mind. He had thrown blasts of fire against the walls, had caused a storm but to no success.

He was imprisoned, maybe for eternity considering that nobody would find the cave and that no new rough diamond would be allowed to enter. He had curled up into a ball and even hugged the stupid parrot that he had taken with him, his only companion, and maybe even friend, in his solitude.

Then one day, after day, maybe weeks, months, years or centuries, having lost all sense for time, he had sat here, leaned against the wall, looking at his red skin and the golden shackles he wore now around his wrists, cursing his own hunger for power, but even more the genie and Aladdin’s betrayal, when he thought how much he wished he could again taste some fresh fruit, just an apple, just a stupid apple.

And suddenly, there had been an apple. Laying there on the floor in front of him.

He had stared at the fruit, had closed his eyes, and opened them again, and the green apple had still been there.

He had gingerly picked it up, sniffed at it, and closed his eyes again, but this time not in unbelieving but in bliss when the scent filled his nostrils. And then he had taken a bite, chewed it, and swallowed it, but the apple hat turned into a mist in his hand. It was only an illusion, but if he could produce the illusion of an apple, he maybe could produce illusions of another kind as well.

And so, he had found out that his itty bitty living space was not as itty bitty at all.

The most powerful being of the world and he had the power to create an illusion of a place that he could call his own, had created a palace for himself, with a town surrounding it, had created the illusion of servants and townsfolk who bowed to him as their sultan when he walked the streets, aware that there never would be a danger for him. Had created the illusion of his old self, without the monstrous red skin, but always present were the golden shackles, always reminding him of who he was and what he had turned into. Everyone was always kind to him, smiled at him, and gave him what he wanted. He created a lover for himself, a beautiful girl with dark brown eyes and black hair down to her waist, a curvy yet slender body, long legs, more gorgeous than any girl he had ever laid eyes on. He was not giving her a name, aware that she was not real, but he gave her some sort of a personality, even if she was demure and only the shell of a living, breathing being, and yet she was a welcome company in all those moments when the loneliness became too much. But at all times, he was aware that Iago, that dreaded parrot, was his only true company, the only other real soul that was there.

He found himself often talking for hours to the bird, Iago answering him with insults and tilts of his head, but even though he always acted annoyed, he was glad that the parrot was there with him, while he doubted that Iago felt remotely the same about being confined into the lamp.

For eons, he ruled over his city, ruled over those illusions of people. And with every passing day, with every passing moment, he became more aware of the emptiness, this unbearable emptiness that became harder to bear with every day.

Maybe the genie had not known about this possibility, about this opportunity to create his own world. Maybe he had not been powerful enough, after all, he was now the most powerful sorcerer and being in the universe. Or maybe, just maybe, he knew that it would not fill his empty heart with what it was yearning for.

One day, he stood on the balcony, and looked over his sultanate, looked at the buildings in the middle of a desert that had all been created from his own mind. And he felt nothing.

Nothing.

The girl he had made for himself, his companion and lover, more perfect than Jasmine could have ever dreamt of, hat embraced him from behind, rubbing her smooth cheek against his shoulder, whispering sweet things about longing and love, and he frowned. Where did those words come from? Was that what he was really longing for himself? Love? No. Idiocracy. He wanted power, he wanted to once be not the second to anyone else. Not to his father the master thief who had beaten him when he had not stolen what he had been ordered to. Not the guards in the dungeons of Sherebad that had broken his fingers and threatened to cut off his hands for being a thief. Not to the sultan’s wife who had saved him and brought him to Agrabah to be raised and educated but never had stopped to let him know where his place was. Not to Jasmine who had risen to power when he had been the one to do all the work. Not to the sultan who had been a stupid old man and not listened to his ideas and plans for progress, his thoughts about making Agrabah the most wealthy sultanate in the world.

Idiots, all of them. Not worthy of his power and cleverness. His…

He turned around and looked down at his companion who was looking up at him with doe eyes and batted her long lashes at him, saying things about coming back to bed and letting her gift him an heir.

He raised a brow but followed her to the luxurious, dark bedroom he had made after his own taste, and allowed her to pleasure him until she fell asleep next to him with a smile, feeling so real, almost as if she was alive and not just a thing he had created.

With a sigh, he turned to the side and fell asleep not shortly after, always aware that his sleep was also nothing but a figment of his imagination, giving him only short rest and nothing else. He never dreamed anymore, not like he had done when he had still been alive when he had still been human. His sleep or more the illusion of sleep was as empty as his heart was, and meaningless.

Until it was not.

He startled from his sleep, finding himself alone, which was no surprise since his illusions tended to vanish while he was resting, panting, and eyes wide open.

Iago was cackling on his seat next to the bed, his wings spread as if he felt his own inner turmoil.

He frowned and looked around, but everything was the same. His room, the furniture, the food.

But something was different. There was a loud beating in his chest as if his heart suddenly remembered what to do as if life was returning to him.

Something was happening.

Something had happened.

He had dreamed.

He rubbed his hands over his face, and then looked at his fingers which were trembling. Balling them into fists, he took a deep breath.

Impossible.

He did not dream, and yet there had clearly been images that filled his mind.

Images of a man, a man he had never seen before.

He closed his eyes and tried to remember what he had seen.

A man, smaller than he had been when he had been human, with a lithe built, moving with hunched over shoulders carrying books through long hallways. Shoulder long hair the color of burnt desert sand, somewhere between sandy and brown, in soft waves. Clothes like he had never seen them before. Blue trousers and a top that looked like it was several sizes too large for him. Maybe a servant who was wearing the old clothes of his master.

Then the man in his dream had turned around, and when he remembered the face of the man, he gasped.

It felt like he had seen him before. Maybe he had dreamt of him before and forgotten about it? But no. That was impossible. He would not forget someone looking like that

His skin was as pale as that of the merchants who came from the countries in the West offering to trade with Agrabah. His jaw and chin were covered with thin stubble and there was a dark spot on his one cheek, maybe a birthmark, but he could not be certain. His nose was a little too large for his face, lips not thin and not plush, yet sensually curved.

But the most intriguing thing about the man were his eyes, eyes of a color he had never seen before.

The color of the sea on a stormy day.

The color of the sky after a thunderstorm.

The color of a jewel in the sun.

A diamond in the rough.


End file.
